


This Is (cold) Love

by cubedcoffeecake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, No Prophecy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cubedcoffeecake/pseuds/cubedcoffeecake
Summary: A young man of high standing and a young man with no standing fell in love and believed they could be happy.





	This Is (cold) Love

His lover moaned as Draco pressed another searing kiss to his lips, trying to pour enough passion into it to reach Harry’s soul and imprint how much he adored everything about him. How much he adored the way Harry’s exotic green eyes would sparkle when he looked at Draco; the way his cheeks would darken when he realized Draco had seen him; the way his school robes fit around his shoulders; the way his hair would fall wild and free no matter how much effort Harry put into taming it; the way he looked when he dueled in Dark Arts class; the way he rambled on and on whenever someone got him started talking about Quidditch.

Harry rolled his hips forward, grinding their erections together and causing them both to moan. He did it again, and again, forming a delicious rhythm. Draco frantically ran his hands up and down Harry’s back, trying to touch as much as he could at once.

This warmth he felt when he was with Harry meant more to him than anything else he’d ever known. It was comforting, and soft, and safe; but it was also awe-inspiring, lust-inducing, and made Draco so possessive. Merlin, just the thought of someone else ever _touching_ his Harry—causing him any discomfort—

Draco shuddered and rolled his hips to meet Harry’s, reveling in the bliss showing on the other’s face.

This was love. Draco believed that as strongly as he believed that blood couldn’t possibly matter if a mudblood could create a being like _his_ Harry. He had so many plans that revolved solely around Harry; as soon as they graduated, Draco was going to ask Harry to marry him and whisk him away to the Black’s manor in Stalingrad. They’d be safe from everyone who’d disapproved of their relationship and they could be happy and warm and in love for the rest of their lives.

Best of all—it was a plan, not a dream. He and Harry were the stuff of romance novels. He was a rich aristocrat, expected to uphold his family’s beliefs and succeed his father as a trusted advisor of Britain’s Dark Lord, but instead, he was planning to run off with a man of peasant’s status. Everything was set, though. Everything was in place. It didn’t have to just be a dream.

“Oh, _oh_ — _Draco_ ,” Harry groaned. Draco felt something warm and wet seep onto his dick and keened as he threw his head back and came as well.

Both of them stood for a moment, still clinging to each other, panting in the broom closet as they came down from their highs. This was what they had right now, and Draco wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. He found the strength to pull away and cast cleaning charms by thinking of a coming day where their relationship could be even sweeter. His dream of loving Harry forever could get him through anything.

“Mm, I love it when I muss your hair up,” Harry murmured. Draco smiled and leaned up to kiss Harry on the chin.

“Come, let’s get to the Great Hall. I heard there would be treacle tart for dessert,” Draco grinned, chuckling as Harry’s expression lit up. He fumbled for the doorknob, turning it as Harry finished tucking his robes back into place.

“The only thing in the world that I appreciate as much as you,” Harry said lightly as the door swung open.

Draco was fleetingly aware of several dark figures standing in the hallway outside, before he and Harry were bombarded with flashes of light.

* * *

“No! Please! My-my lord, please, don’t hurt him!”

“Do you confess? Have you seduced Heir Malfoy into dirtying himself by associating with you? Have you sought to corrupt his pure blood by your wiles?”

“Y-yes! It was me! It was all me! Please, my lord, please don’t hurt—“ Harry’s voice was cut off by a sharp cry of pain that woke Draco fully.

He tried to sit up but found himself bound to a chair, unable to shift into a better position. He craned his neck instead, desperately trying to locate Harry.

When he spotted him a moment later, Draco felt as if a piece of his heart had been wrenched from his chest.

Harry was kneeling on the ground in the center of a ring of Death Eaters. Draco recognized the cloaks and masks and realized that these weren’t just Death Eaters—these were the members of the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle. His father was likely among them. And Harry wasn’t just kneeling. He was naked and caked in mud, and blood was dripping down his chest and one of his arms. Draco choked out a horrified gasp.

Harry’s normally bright green eyes didn’t hold the sparkle that Draco knew. They were glassy and dazed. His cheeks held no blush, but were instead ashen, along with the rest of his skin. His hair lay the flattest Draco had ever seen, as if the spirit had been drained out of it.

“You have committed crimes most serious, Harry Evans. All mudbloods know not to sully a greater wizard with your presence, much less your wiles. For bewitching a pureblood heir, your punishment will be severe.”

No. No, no, no, no. Draco knew that voice. That voice belonged to the Dark Lord himself.

Eyes wide, Draco stared at Lord Voldemort as he stalked forward, stopping just before Harry. He was distantly aware of tears running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin as he watched the Dark Lord pull out his wand and train it on Harry.

“No!”

The room froze. Harry and the Dark Lord both turned their heads to look at Draco at once. Harry’s eyes held terror, and he shook his head frantically, begging Draco to listen. To let him take the punishment for them both.

If Draco had ever had one weakness, it was his aversion to causing himself pain.

“My lord, I beg Draco not have to bear the sight of him any longer,” his mother interjected. She stepped forward into his line of vision. “May I take him to his chambers?”

The Dark Lord smiled slowly. It was the most terrifying thing Draco had ever seen in his life. “Yes, of course. You have had a terribly traumatizing time with this one, haven’t you Draco?” he commented. “Yes, you may take your son to his chambers. He can hear about the mudblood’s punishment when he has built his strength back up.”

Draco’s Mum bowed to the Dark Lord before gently removing the straps holding him to the chair. All Draco could see, though—all his mind could process—was the image of his lover in front of him, watching him leave with tears in his eyes and a hopelessness that he should never have had to bear.

As Draco stumbled along the hallways leading to his rooms, a scream pierced the air. _Harry_.

His vision went black, and all he could think of as he fell to the floor was the engagement ring he had tucked away in his school trunk.

* * *

It was his punishment for “allowing himself to be seduced by a mudblood.” Draco knew that much. He wasn’t a fool.

But having to watch as the members of the Inner Circle cast the Cruciatus curse on Harry—watching as they burned him, and cut him, and ripped apart his mind and body piece by piece —Draco wondered if it was a punishment they believed he could recover from. If they truly thought he would be able to continue on living as he had before, now having seen the love of his life destroyed as he watched the memory helplessly.

Had they killed Harry, Draco may have chosen to follow him upon exiting the pensieve.

They hadn’t, however, and an interrogation of the House Elves informed Draco that Harry was being kept in one of the cells in the dungeon.

Minutes later, Draco was rushing through Malfoy Manor’s hidden passageways, going down, down, down, taking staircase after staircase, desperate to see Harry immediately. He had to see that there was still life in him. _His_ Harry.

He reached the cell without coming across any guards and opened the barred door with a simple _alohomora_.

“Harry?” he whispered. The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open. “Harry?” he whispered again, desperation leaking into his tone.

A quiet whine broke through the stillness. Draco sucked in a breath, holding up his wand with a shaking hand and casting _lumos_. The light was far too bright and Draco blinked for a moment before his eyes adjusted enough to see the crumpled figure laying on the ground in front of him.

Harry turned his head toward Draco, and Draco let out a sob. The familiar green eyes were dull.

“Harry?” Draco whispered thickly, sinking to his knees and shuffling forward.

“Dray,” he mumbled in return. “Love you,” he added as Draco reached him, nuzzling Draco’s knee with his cheek.

“Oh Merlin, Harry—I, I love you too. So, so much darling, I love you so much.” He laid down on his side next to Harry and pulled him into his arms, burying one hand into Harry’s hair and pressing his face into Draco’s neck as his other arm wrapped around Harry’s torso and held him to Draco as tightly as he could manage. Harry just hummed in response.

Everything was wrong.

_This wasn’t warm._

Harry’s body was cold and trembling. His eyes were empty and dull. His skin was pale and his hair lay limp. He was dirty, and lifeless, and Draco didn’t know what to do anymore. He tried to summon up his plan, his dream, to imagine them smiling and laughing over dinner in Stalingrad, but he couldn’t.

All he could see was the look in Harry’s eyes as he took curse after curse so Draco wouldn’t have to.

This was love, too. Curled around each other in a cold, dark cell with no future in sight. This was a cold love, with no passion or joy; but Draco could feel the tremulous strength of it as potently as he had felt their burning love earlier that day in the broom closet.

Harry pressed a light kiss into Draco’s neck and Draco tightened his grip.

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks to @theoriginalobjecttheorist and @keyflight790 for looking this over for me, and even more thanks to Chris for the help coming up w a title!!
> 
> In honor of my new nickname "Torturer of Souls," here you go. (:< Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
